


doom days

by demoncat22



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Abusive Neil Hargrove, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Billy Hargrove Being an Asshole, Billy Hargrove Lives But He Doesn't Show Up, Child Abuse, Domestic Violence, Friendship, Gen, Maxine "Max" Mayfield-centric, Maxine "May" Mayfield Deserves Better, Post-Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:35:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22354201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demoncat22/pseuds/demoncat22
Summary: The hospital kept Billy for a while, and Max hadn’t even known when Billy had gotten out.He left Hawkins, god knows how – his car is the same wreck, Max watches its shape in the driveway sometimes, from her bedroom window – and he took nothing, went away without telling Neil.Without telling Max.And that’s fine too, she decides.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove & Maxine "Max" Mayfield, Eleven | Jane Hopper & Maxine "Max" Mayfield, Maxine "Max" Mayfield & Lucas Sinclair, Maxine "Max" Mayfield & The Party
Comments: 14
Kudos: 53





	1. pick the truth that we believe in

**Author's Note:**

> As of 19 February, this work is under renovation.

Hawkins, Indiana is a town meant to hide things. 

Peering out the car window, Neil's smoke blowing back in her face with every blustering exhale of his cigarette, Max hadn’t known it. It's exciting to move, she feels the reluctant thrill of a new neighborhood in her chest, counting the faded signs and wondering how so many of them could be about detergent. She hadn't known that it would be a small town, slowly bandaged fingers peeling back the flap of her packed boxes. She hadn't known a lot of things about where they were moving or why, because that sort of thing isn't for her to know. 

But, watching Susan greet the shifty-eyed neighbours from her window, she doesn’t even think her mom wanted to move. 

She hates it on principle, makes it clear in the way she bangs around the house. 

The high of moving doesn't protect her, but she hadn't expected it to, ignoring the empty space on the breakfast table, among a plating of three. It's the way it's always been - Neil doesn't talk to her about his displeasure, not like he talks to Billy. He only makes sure she knows who gets to eat, and who doesn't, "It'll do the girl good," his voice had filtered through the cracks of the bedroom door, "Could stand to lose a few pounds." 

When she doesn't come to the table, he drags her. 

I don’t like it, she had snarled, I miss my friends, and she had pushed at the dinner table while her fake brother ate his potatoes. The gravy dipped into his beans, too runny, the way her mom makes it. The smell churns saliva at the back of her gums, but if she yelled, if she kicks out at the table with her legs, she wouldn't have to think about it. Neil shushed her in hisses, like a dog, louder and louder until she fell quiet. 

And she fell quiet, eyes downcast, burning a hole into the wood of their table. Feeling hot shame sear across her face for nothing, as beside her, Neil sits, his breathing laboured and flushed, his back straight, as if he's been through an ordeal. A thick tongue coming out to lick his lips, eyes looking away from Maxine, already drifting. 

The next day, her mom gives her a helmet, says it’s from _the both of us_. 

Neil doesn't talk to Maxine, because Maxine is not a person. 

You don't get a helmet for something that's not a person; she admires it clinically, wondering if it can be set on fire. In the end, it gets shoved it into the back of her new cupboard. 

She traipses across Hawkins, pretends her skateboard is a plane. There, sliding down roads and ends, the wind is hers, and even in the autumn she gulps it down, her cheeks ruddy from the cold, her nose numb, because that’s _freedom_. 

* * *

Billy plays pretend like a pro. 

She's always thought he was a liar, when Neil had been Mr. Hargrove, bringing his son under the shelter of her mom's porch. Standing so still, staring right at Max with his popped collar and his squeaky clean shoes. She'd thought he was cool too, how he plays around with the zippo in the garden. She'd thought that maybe he had only been pretending not to see her watch him through the kitchen - that's what big brothers do, yes? 

She knows, now, that Billy hadn't given half a shit about her. 

And in Hawkins, Billy pretends to be like Neil, shouts at her and snarls and licks his lips because he thinks it’s funny. 

He lurches forward when she’s locked in the car with him, dark eyes gleaming. Always so fast, and when she sits with him, she watches him, she has to watch him, _always._ He guffaws when she flinches back into the side of the door, fingers pressing down hard on the gritty edge of her skateboard. “It must be real funny,” she says once, using her leg to shove the door open and peer back inside with a sneer, “When Neil does that to you.” 

Billy moves faster than she can blink, wrenching him into the car by her hair. The seat pushes into her stomach, her skateboard scraping down her forearm, if she’d had the time to shout, she would have, something like _ge’off-_

Above the sudden, _afraid, afraid, afraid._

“You little _bitch_ ,” Billy hisses, his hand shooting out to grip her other wrist. It hurts enough that her face strains, expression stripped open as smoke clogs her nose. Blows onto her eyes until it waters, “You talk to me like that?” 

Max gets her bitten, jagged nails into his skin and claws, that she feels his skin break under her hands. 

She slams his car door, snarls back, sees behind the window, glittering black eyes. They glower at each other, in Billy’s face she sees his promise, that she’ll _regret_ doing that. The day is shot. Because she keeps thinking about his eyes, how he’d tightened his grip on her hair and gotten angrier and angrier. He knows now, in a way Neil doesn’t know, that she’s afraid of him. 

Max _hates him._

* * *

Max shoves the stinging sweet strawberry pop into her mouth, grinding down on the paper stick hard enough to hurt her teeth. Her appetite is curdled by the artificial syrup, she swallows only when she remembers to, quiet as the grave when she slams down on the sweat slicked controls of Hawkin’s shitty arcade games. 

Kids don’t come up to her. 

She sets her face dour, her mouth pulls down. She doesn’t walk like she has something to prove, not like her _peachy big brother,_ she sits at the back of the class. 

How’s it then, that she’s got a couple of losers following her around her first days in? 

“I’m going trick-or-treating.” she says, at the doorway of the kitchen. 

Her mother has her head beneath the sink, her knees white with pressure. Her auburn hair has turned dark and dripping with dirty water, but she scrambles to her feet at the sound of her, pitched however quiet. Neil has gone to work, and Billy, duty done, having sent her home, has driven off somewhere else. The house, empty but for the both of them, seems to ring with the silence. 

The houses in Hawkins are big, bigger than she’s ever seen, and the people wear nice jackets over nicer sweaters, never mind fancy ass Loch Nora. It must make Neil envious, because the shops make him say things about waste, about the hard life, and how the town stinks of lethargy, the pompous rich fucks that used to push him around. 

She hadn’t even known Neil knew what lethargy meant. 

Her mom mends the house, while he’s out. It’s work that needs to be done, but if he finds her fixing things, clanging around the rooms, he’ll turn red with anger, and Max, choking on her frustration, doesn’t, _doesn’t_ understand. 

“Max,” her mom says, staring at her with wide, blank eyes, her chest heaving. Her mouth crooks at the end, flustered, sitting on her knees, before she remembers, “Trick-or-treating?” 

Max rubs her fingers against the wooden groves of the door frame, “Some kids at school invited me to go with them.” she says, sotto voice. 

Her mom’s hands pat against her trousers, worn gray with dust and time. It’s the one she had when she had Max, and now it’s too big for her. The belt around it cinches her waist. “Is it Halloween already?” she asks, her shoulders tight. She wants to get back to her work, Max can tell, even when she’s still smiling. 

But she won’t. 

She won’t because Halloween is _Max’s_ holiday. 

California had a habit of blowing festivities out of proportion, and streets upon streets were cast open for Halloween. Year after year, in the midst of it all, little Max was tugged and pressed into a pleasing, gruesome shape, her favourite monsters, hanging off her mom’s arm. 

Max scuffs her shoes against the floor, staring out the window, into the empty front porch. 

“Yeah.” 

“Friends,” her mom says, and her smile becomes a little bit wider. “Didn’t I tell you, you’d like it here? I think you owe us an apology, young lady.” 

Her body tightens. “Mom,” she mutters, sharp, but it doesn’t reach, not across the distance like this. Her mom’s eyes are faraway, thinking. When Max asks for things, she has to present it at a time of calm. Without the Hargrove men, when her mother’s thoughts are settled, methodical, unfrenzied by the storm that is the family. 

“Who are they? What are their names?” 

“I don’t even know them,” she bursts out into the quiet, the back wheel of her skateboard pressing into her side, “Now that I think about it, I have a lot of homework, and there’s,” she waves her hand, “A lot to do in the house,” 

“It’s alright,” her mom says, firm, a hand in her direction. 

Then she pushes herself off the kitchen floor. 

Her jeans are soaked through. 

“Don’t you think I've forgotten,” her mom tuts, but she moves as if on strings, arms slow, rummaging through her purse, lying on the counter. 

Max watches her approach, swallowing, her throat suddenly dry. She’s anxious, and her mom’s joviality, so like how she used to be, is only making it worse. The agreement seems so shallow, like it doesn’t matter. “But what will,” she begins to say, stops herself and looks away before she sees the shadow behind her mom’s eyes. 

The door slams open. 

Max doesn’t look away quickly enough that she doesn’t see her mom’s hands flinch. She peers out the kitchen, mouth set to see Billy make his way without blinking, staring at the two of them. “You giving money away, Susan?” 

Max glares at him, and his brows raise at her, before moving towards her mother. 

“It’s Halloween,” 

Billy grins, mouth warping open. His forehead is creased, “Do I get a party trick?” 

Her mom doesn’t hesitate, her smile becoming slightly strained. She reaches for her wallet. “Here,” she says, then, like an afterthought, “Be careful,” 

“You don’t have to worry,” Billy croons, snatches it from her hand. “No one in this hick town’s selling.” 

He storms through the house like a stampede all on his own. He’ll make sure first, through all the rooms, that Neil isn’t home. Then he’ll play his records, blasting through the windows, loud and louder just for the both of them, Max and Susan. Waiting for it, she wants to break all his damn- music- 

“Have fun tonight,” her mom says, and Max whips her head around, feeling suddenly smaller, to see her palms streaked with muddy water, her voice quiet, and pressed thin. 

“He’ll be happy you’re settling in, Max.” 

Fresh bills are put into her hands and she had been so excited to ask, but when she folds them into her pocket, her throat is dry. Her mother buries herself back beneath the sink, thin fingers tugging at the head of a hefty wrench, her back bent in a painful arch. Is she setting in? 

_So_ _what, you like it here now?”_

Shut the fuck up, Billy. 

If Max could flick Billy’s voice right out of her head, shove all of his words down his throat, she would. But she won’t, won’t think of it, not when she’s walking down the roads for a Halloween store, and not when she waves her chainsaw in the boys’ faces. Old Cherry Road isn’t so dangerous that she can’t walk down the streets at night; Hawkins is a cushy little town. 

And it’s not the roads she’s afraid of. 

* * *

There are girls who have mean punches, who leave purpling bruises, there are girls who scream like the very air is burning them from the inside out, their entire body a tight, threatening line, and there are girls who latch onto you by your neck and refuse to let go, take you into themselves until you become nothing – Max doesn’t know which one makes the missing girl Mike Wheeler’s hung up on. 

Not that she has had experience with girls like that. 

She watches the girls who slide into the seat in front of her, what Billy tells her when the perfume is all that’s left, the car rancid and sour the day after. He’s so serious saying it, both hands on the wheel. Y _ou_ _wanna_ _know which one you are_ , he guffaws, drumming fingers down hard, braying on his laughter. 

She scrapes the muddy bottom of her shoes on his car. 

Billy tells her so _many_ things- 

_Whose fault is it?_

Max blinks her fatigue away, shoving the school doors open with her shoulder. The little squirming creature that scurried away from her, whatever things this stack of losers are hiding, maybe she wants in too. 

To be one of a gang- what Lucas calls it, the party. 

And Max knew an El, in California. 

Her parents called her Ellena; she wore black stick-on earrings all throughout the fourth grade. She knew where to get them really cheap, any colour Max wanted, and Max had amassed a whole collection of them in California. Neat little rows on plastic sheets, she bought them with her lunch change, kept them in her drawers. She had shown them off to her mom once, right in front of Mr. Hargrove. 

He’d looked right at her then, his expression tar. “You hang around the right people,” he had said to her, the first thing he’d ever said to her. “You know how she got those cheap? She stole it, she’s scamming you out of your money.” 

_Thief,_ Billy laughs, _thief thief thief-_

And Max had kept them crumpled in her drawers, hid the stickers away. 

Billy’s car is gone. 

She stares at the empty parking lot, jaw clenched at the milling seniors. The sun hangs low in the sky. Old Cherry Road hasn’t been home for long, the streets look like the ones in the arcade screens, evenly spaced, standardized, and the woods encroach into the town until in places, they seem one and the same. She drops her skateboard, a foot pressing down. 

She can find her way. 

She’s found every crevice of the town centre, where she went before school started. Things are different at night, but maybe she should’ve planned for that too. Her legs ache with the strain, her hair sticks to her neck, whips around her jaw. She grits her teeth, shoves and pushes faster. The sky turns the trees into shadows, rattling cars skating past the roads with looming white beams. There are eyes in the forests. 

In comparison, Mike Wheeler’s sour face means nothing, digging into her back on Halloween. He has a dumb face, flinty, black eyes. 

She heaves the more she faster she tries to go, her entire body swinging forward. Her legs tremble, trembling- 

It gives out. 

The side of it smacks her in the shin, trying to catch herself she cuts a jagged wound against the rocks in the leaves. She curls into herself, fingers pressing down around her leg, stomach roiling. Grass pricks into her jeans, the errant autumn stingers creeping up on her. 

“Fuck,” she spits, tries to taste the word in her mouth, but it just sounds awkward, clunky. She hates the sound of it in the dark, creaking branches. “Fuck!” she shouts, again, over the slow roar of a distant car, staring at the sky. 

Settling in. 

Her jeans turn cold. She thinks about the way Mike had tugged her to her feet, his face cracking open with concern. She’d never seen that concern from anyone else, only in her mom’s sallow face. Maybe, he’ll come around, now that he knows she’s not trying to take anyone’s place. Dustin is overeager showing her his odd knick knacks, even if he’s a little weird around Lucas, staring at each other with wide, unblinking eyes, and Lucas waits for her every day, his backpack beside his feet, the fur of his coat against his cheeks in the early morning chill. 

Max isn’t supposed to settle in. 

She and Billy, they were the same. It’s what Billy’s said, even before the wedding, like a threat. It’s a shit town, Billy says, so Max agrees. 

Max thinks about running around an empty school, being in something like a party. Looking for a big bug. 

Digging the end of her skateboard into the dirt, she pushes herself to her feet with a grunt. 

Maybe it doesn’t matter if she is. 

* * *

Billy is a line of affected casualness against the hood of his car, the sun in his face, when he asks, _the kid you were talking to, who is that?_

It’s what he wants, she wants to shout at him, opening the door of the car. 

She _hates_ it here. 

But when he speaks like _t_ _hat,_ Max knows; she should be quiet. 

Her chest feels like it trembles under her jacket, heat crawling the back of her neck, inescapable from the curtain of her stuffed hair. Lucas, his eyes wide, stammering, is a hypocrite, won’t even talk to Mike like they aren’t friends, now she’s all out of sorts, angry about people she hadn’t even given a _shit_ about- 

Swallowing how angry she is because angry is a box that Billy will kick her out of, he clamours over it like it’s something to share, like she crosses a territory only he can occupy. 

“You’re a piece of shit, but we’re family,” he says, mouth full of smoke, out of the corner of her eyes; he teases the words from behind his flat, white teeth, half-hearted, she hears Mr. Hargrove in his recital, when he says, tucking his cigarette pack into the front of his jacket, “That means I’m stuck looking out for you.” 

Her lip curls – _be quiet, Max –_ but that’s the thing, she _isn’t._ She rolls her eyes, secure in her crossed arms, and Billy’s hand busy with his new cigarette. 

She wants to not talk about this anymore. 

She doesn’t want to talk about the party, about Lucas. She’s done, out, she doesn’t want to talk about it to _Billy-_

_“Hey!”_ he snarls, and she doesn’t see it, when a hot hand clamps down on her wrist, when he wrenches her towards him, his teeth sharp and glimmering in the afternoon sun. The chatter of the students outside become a dull buzz in her ears, and there are students outside, the lumpy parents who wait around for their kids, the way hers never did. The windows are rolled down, he wouldn’t- he _wouldn’t_ do anything- 

Careless- incredulous on her face, Billy doesn’t like incredulous, he _d_ _oesn’t-_ she’ll pay for it. He squeezes, so tight pain lances up her arm. Shout, and someone will hear her, she thinks, dizzily, but she can’t. Billy doesn’t like shouting and Mr. Hargrove- her throat locks, looking in his pinprick eyes, the venom that twists the hard lines of his face into something grotesque, red lines around his pupils. 

His words are washed away in her rib cage. 

What did he say? 

Max can’t remember, only _stay away. People like him, stay away._ Her eyes sting. 

She stares at the road, unblinking, until the dashboard becomes a smear of colour. Until her wrist stops pounding, and the sky darkens enough that the water that slides down her face becomes shadow instead. 

When they get home. 

She gives herself that, to stop. But when the porch lights come into view, she’s rasping, trying to shove it all back in. “Billy,” her mom says, softly, devastated at the door. 

“No.” Max chokes, wanting to tell her to be quiet, that this is losing. 

Billy shoves his way past her mom. 

“What happened?” 

“You accusing me of something,” Billy asks, all polite, before his voice kicks a notch and he’s snarling in her mom's face, “Because I didn’t do anything to my _sister_.” latches it on because the television is buzzing in a low wave, and Mr. Hargrove is home. 

“I didn’t say that,” her mother objects, thin, and there is a hand around Max’ cheek. Wipes down her tears, _why can’t she stop?_

“You yelling at my boy?” 

“No,” her mom says quickly, her hands, turned pruney from dishwater, flies in a surrender. Max has the crazy, childish urge to hold her, put her arms around a thin waist. Looking up, Susan Hargrove has stray stands of hair in her face, her words coming out staggered as she presses her back into the wall, for room, see. “Neil... Max is....” 

Room where Neil lumbers from his seat. 

It’s only a quick glance down at her, she wonders if he’d even looked at her face. His fat lip curls. He looks at her mom, face flattened. Her blood feels hot, her chest molten. She wants to _scream_ at him, what she’d give to take her mother and _go-_

“What,” Neil rasps, a void behind his voice, soothed by the lull of the television. “He drove too fast for her? She’s a girl, she doesn’t know why she’s crying.” he turns to Billy, “You drove too fast, boy?” 

“No, sir.” Billy says, in the voice he uses when he’s so mighty pleased. His face shines in the light. Bringing a dead rat to its owner, she thinks darkly, furious in the blotchiness of her face. So angry she could peel the skin of his mouth back. “Didn’t want her to make the wrong sort of friends, is all.” Take his tongue _, stop talking_ ** _liar -_**

“You can’t encourage this behaviour,” Neil’s voice seems tinny in the crowded hallway. 

“She’s going to think she can cry her way out of anything.” 

“She’s...” her mom, “It’s a difficult time...” 

“Hormones,” Billy says- 

Max is swinging her skateboard at his leg before he finishes. 

The wood makes a satisfying thud against him, and the yowl he lets out tears through the house. “You piece of shit!” he screams, lunging, a hand in her hair. He kicks her skateboard away, “Know your _place_ ,” 

She spits in his face. 

“Neil!” 

In the storm, at the back of her head, she sees Neil, Mr. Hargrove. His face is slack with boredom, a satisfied air about him. He returns to his throne with a can of beer in hand. He only turns his face slightly, and she thinks he will look at her now, finally, but he looks above her. Billy dragging her by the arm down the staircase, pain strikes where the angular points of the house crashes into her ribs. 

Her spine throbs, she grits her teeth. 

“Put her in the basement.” 

* * *

Lucas is touchy. 

She doesn’t know if it’s him who is, or if it’s her who’s become so aware of skin. When he claps his hand over her mouth, he smells like lemons. The knob of the machine presses into her back, “You’re going to get us killed,” he whispers among the little beeping noises of the arcade, the light casting his skin in neon purple. His mouth opens, most likely to say another stupid thing, but Max is on a roll today. 

Her face twists in discomfort, eyes tightening. She hates it, that her body locks, like she’s jammed all of a sudden, when someone grabs her. 

She wrenches Lucas’ arm away, seething, in pain. 

Lucas withdraws; the frustration that had furrowed his brow becomes confusion. 

“What was that?” 

“It’s nothing,” she snaps, folding her arms over her chest, “I gotta go- don’t try to talk to me again.” 

Lucas blows out an exasperated breath, his face all creased. “Max,” he says, his eyes jumping about, on her arm, her wrist, like he’s trying to burrow into her skin. 

What is he trying to see? 

“Fuck off-” 

His throat works, “I’m serious,” he says, at last, and she takes that line, drawing herself up. 

“Prove it.” she says, and yes, he won’t stop looking at her like that, but indignance worms its way through his expression. Forget, she wills, blustering, “Prove that you’re telling the truth and not just making this whole thing up!” 

Lucas shakes his head. 

“You’ve just gotta trust me.” he insists, his mouth drawn in a line. His eyes drop to her feet, she stands lopsided today, but there’s no way he can tell- “Max-” 

The blaring honk stops him. 

She scrambles to the door, crouched, to see Billy in his blue car. In an hour, he said, and it hasn’t even been that. She didn’t even get to play- “Don’t follow me.” she hisses, urgent, so urgent Lucas stares at her gobsmacked. 

She leaves before she sees anymore of his stupid face. 

“What did I say?” Billy breathes from the car, and his smile is sleazy, _liar liar-_ “You know what happens when you lie.” 

No one in the Hargrove household cares enough about Max to know her lies. 

It’s only ever Billy. 

She screams out of the basement, throwing her weight into the door. Billy can’t keep her here, he isn’t Neil. He wishes he was, wants to be, so badly, but she slams her fists down on the wood, over and over, even if she breaks her hands- 

She’ll get _out._

* * *

Billy slams Lucas against the wall, like he’s ready to kill him, and for the first time in her life, Max is afraid for someone outside herself. 


	2. like a bad religion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's consequences to standing up to your shitty older brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: Graphic depictions of violence in the first two scenes.

Billy crashes into her room the morning after. 

After the Demogorgan. 

She’s barely awake, lethargy clamping cold hands on her limbs, but the door bangs against the cupboard loud enough that she jerks awake, all at once ready to run. Her spine is ramrod, staring at the door, sweat under her palms. 

She doesn’t remember why she should be afraid of him, what she’s done to make him angry. 

There’s a darkening bruise on his face, his palm splayed on her door. He’s in his favourite red, the shirt he’d worn yesterday, rumpled of a night’s unwilling sleep. The smell of muck follows him into the room, long blond waves, often so carefully mussed and arranged, is dark and limp with sweat and grease. Billy is vain enough that the sight would have caught her off-guard, had she not seen his face first. 

“What,” he seethes, the whites of his eyes bloodshot, the lines of his face etched in heart-pounding, brutal, _fury._ “Did you do to me, you crazy _bitch_.” 

“Get out,” she bursts out, voice wavering when everything comes rushing back, clamouring to her feet with her blood roaring in her ears, “Get out of my room!” 

His fingers are pressed white with pressure against the frame. Then he jerks, in one quick movement, and the door slams behind him. 

He looms large in her room. 

The morning sun flickers through the shutters, bright enough, that Neil has gone to work. Max needs only to stare at the unfiltered, unhinged way Billy stands that she knows- no one is coming for her. 

“You know what _I_ remember,” Billy asks, “Max?” 

She casts her arm about in a frenzy. 

There has to be something she can hold onto, anything at all- her skateboard-! 

It rests against her cupboard, its worn, red patterns facing upwards. It sits between the both of them; she launches off the bed, and Billy, who had followed her gaze with a quick flick of his dark eyes, gets there sooner. His mouth is set in a closed snarl, in two strides, he’s there, and on his second, he kicks her skateboard across the room. 

It clatters and bangs against the window, and she freezes, head tipped to stare at him as he looms over her- 

_“_ I remember _someone,_ left the house.” her step-brother's voice is thin and quiet; she takes a step back, “Got Susan all worked up, I was going to go on a date,” He takes a step forward. “I got the shit beat outta me, you know?” 

She doesn’t know if he means Steve or Neil, for a sick, sick moment, frozen staring at his marble face, she wants to say sorry. 

“It’s the one thing I get to do for fun in this shitty town, the _one,”_ She watches him hard that when he bends his body, it looks unnatural to her eyes, face looming down, a specter in the shadows of her room. Billy doesn’t belong in her room, he doesn’t skulk in her shadows. Billy inherits the house and he blares himself throughout the space; the pretending predator, she can’t look in the eye. “Thing.” he ends softly. 

Throws the lamp. She flinches back, where it shatters cuts into her arm. 

“You drugged me,” His breath is rank against her face, the stiffness spreads from her shoulders and it becomes an effort to stay still. Her neck moves by increments, she feels her heart lurch in her chest when he next says, staring at the thin lines of his throat, “You were holding a bat.” 

The end of his words lifts airily, in dark disbelief. 

“Max,” he smiles with gleaming teeth, wide, eyes so opaque she can see herself in them, “I know you didn’t point a bat at me.” 

There’s a beat. 

Even the dust particles are still. 

It’s easier to be brave when she has the party. 

The party stood behind her when she told Billy to fuck off, but there’s only empty air behind her now. She could look away now, and Billy will go easier. If she says she’s sorry before he asks, he’ll be appeased. He will be angry, because he needs to know how sorry she is, and words mean nothing in the Hargrove home. Some grabbing, the same routine. The basement will have no visitor tonight – Max will have dinner. 

She met El the Mage last night. 

How she walked, with long, firm steps. 

Max wants to be like that. “You,” she rasps, her arms still beside her. “Don’t get to ask me, anything.” 

Billy’s hand snaps to her neck, storming her to the wall. His fingers dig into her throat, the force of it slams her head against concrete. The pain rings out behind her eyes, knocks around in her head. She snarls, her legs kicking out. 

_“I don’t get to ask you anything, Max?!_ ” he seethes, and she thinks the dragon should have smoke rising from his mouth, between his clenched teeth, his hands shaking with his fury. 

Mouth opening, wordless hisses leaving her working throat, Max’s arms comes up to his sleeves. She feels the grease on his skin when he moves to squeeze the air out of her, the red on his face making his eyes bulge. She claws and shrieks with every heave; she can’t breathe. 

“Say it again!” he screams, knocking her into the wall. 

The party fought their demons last night; El the Mage obliterated them. There’s blood under her nails, every hit makes Billy angrier, but it’s past that now. She can’t keep her hands from flailing, it’s hard to be still now, her limbs jerking like a marionette. Max cheated last night, and she won’t cheat now. She _won’t._

Spots blacken her vision. 

Not that she had been using her eyes any, only grabbing and pushing and kicking. Her breath is clogged with wet tears, her vision a rising blur. She can’t see Billy’s face, not his eyes, not even so close. She gasps, crying. 

The dark drowns her. 

El the Mage is standing in the dark with her. 

* * *

There’s makeup on her face, but not like she’d put them there on her own. They smear on her cheeks, where lingering baby fat refuses to go. Trying to rub her eyeliner off, her cheeks are red with it. Her hair is lighter than Max had first thought, softer. El approaches her slowly, with her head bent at an odd, bird-like angle, her hands loose at her sides. The quiet bleeds with whispers, shot through when she chases after them. 

“Max.” El says, her voice lilting at its end, muffled between them. The sound comes slower than it should, but all things slow down in the dark. Soft-spoken, cautious. El has the right to be, she has the face of someone who doesn’t deserve the things done to her. 

She doesn’t have Max’ face. 

At the base of her head, a dull ache seeps through the points in her spine. Slow and seeping. 

“Max.” 

_You wouldn’t_ _have_ _let this happen to_ _you,_ Max says. Bubbles come out of her mouth, and she jerks to look up at them. They are round and wobbling, they move upwards steadily. What a weird place, she thinks, raising a hand to stop El from coming closer. 

El shouldn’t be coming close; Max curls into herself, backing away. Mike might’ve had a point there. Where’s the need for a zoomer? A zoomer like Max? She was worth so little on her own, now that El the Mage has come back- she’s garbage. El shouldn’t be around garbage. Max would say so, but her attention becomes caught on her nails, there’s blood and skin. 

Max stares at it, and her face turns sour. 

El inches closer, her eyes worried on her hands. 

Water sloshes around in Max’ throat, her body reflexively lurches to push it down, but it bursts out of her mouth in hacks. 

El skitters back, her hands out. “Wait.” She says tremulously, and somehow it comes out as a demand. “Wait.” 

_For what?_ Max asks through heaving, rasping coughs, clutching at her chest. _What do you mean?_

“Wait!” 

Max opens her eyes to a stinging cold. 

She draws in a sharp, wet breath, spluttering with the wracking spasms. There’s a hand tight in her hair, pulling her from the water and shoving her into the sink just as quickly. She coughs with such a force that tears come to her eyes, her chest and her throat hurts. Her hand grasps around slippery porcelain, water into her nose. 

“Fuck,” Billy hisses, his grip slackening. There’s a pallor to his face that makes him look like a ghost; in the mirror, he staggers back against the bathroom wall. “Fuck _you,_ you fucking - _stupid bitch,"_

Her body warps and rails against her- she doesn’t get to stand, because when Billy lets go, she crumples. Her knees slides on the flood. She can’t stop coughing, face against the tiles, and she can’t stop shaking. Her fingers jerk and twitch, she doesn’t clench her fist, pushes them instead flat over her eyes, staring unseeing through the slits.

There’s a banging on the door downstairs. 

“Look at what you did,” Billy whispers, so far away from her. Her eyes flicker towards him, through her fingers, his gaze is black. “You do what I tell you to do, Max- you-” he closes his mouth. 

“No,” she whispers back, into the heel of her palm, too softly for him to hear, “No, no,” But she looks at him, properly, curls her hands into fists against her mouth, “No.” she says into her nails, with chattering teeth. 

“If you tell dad,” he says, “I’ll-” his voice cracks, but he manages through his teeth, “I’ll _kill_ you,” 

A crash echoes through the house. 

Billy shoves the bathroom door open, and disappears. 

Max presses her hands against her mouth, bites down on her nails and tastes salt and iron. _No,_ she mouths, hearing the faucet run, the water splatter on her head. “No, no-” her elbows creak when she pushes herself to sit, swaying, they buckle more than once. 

Clanging into the hallway is a cacophony of noises, each sharper and louder than the next. 

El the Mage comes skidding into the bathroom. She’s breathing hard, her hands on the doorframe. She’s brought company. 

“Max!” 

_Why did she bring them?_ Hands wind around her arms, grabbing where she’s tender. The bruises have come, in that span of time that she’s gone underwater, and Max – shaking, heart lurching – wants to scream . She wants to throw them out of her room, out of her _house._ Fuck, she wants them gone. She wants them to disappear- wrestling out of their grabby, grubby fingers, heaving snarling breaths, choking on so much fury- not because it hurts. 

“Dustin!” Lucas booms in her ear, close enough that every cell in her body wants to tear out of her skin like a tube, “You’re hurting her,” 

What are they doing? She’ll gauge their eyes. How dare they come here? How can they see her? Wounded and curled on the floor like a rat, she can’t even get up. She _hates_ _, hates, they need to leave,_ _“G-Get out,”_ she coughs, and her throat seems to expand with the effort, but no scream leaves her. “Get out-!” 

“Do something, Mike-” 

Tears drip onto her hands, _why is she crying?_ Her body groans, she presses her face inwards, why is this happening _again?_

“Stop.” Quiet, stern. 

The frenzy, tight in the air, scatters. There’s a movement, where the air seems to become cool. The boys are retreating, but Max won’t look up to see why, why everything has become so still. “What- El-!” is one of the few shouts that echo around the walls, before the door closes with a decisive click. 

Max hears only her breathing. 

Her hiccupping, tripping over herself. Pooling at her mouth, and slipping into the cracks. 

There’s a shuffling from beyond the door, hushed whispers. Max moves her head, and there she is, sitting with her arms wrapped around her legs, her dress seeping with running, sloshing water. 

El the Mage doesn’t say anything to Max. She has her eyes, politely averted, her body turned towards the bathtub. 

She is immovable, a silent vigil, even as the doorknob rattles. 

* * *

She opens the door an hour later. 

Mike, who had been sitting on her bed beside Will, jumps to his feet. His legs are set apart, his hands spread. The first thing he says is, “Let’s kill him.” 

The party explodes in sighs, like this was a conversation they’d had before, and she snorts wetly, wiping her nose against her arm. “El will do it,” Mike pushes, earnest. Max glances at El, whose face is unreadable. She’s certain he hasn’t spoken to El about this at all. “We can pretend we didn’t even know,” 

“We _said_ ,” Dustin hisses, “We’d talk about other things before we talked about the B-I-L-L-Y _situation_.” 

“How do you feel?” Lucas asks her, his hands clasped tightly together. He’s the only one who looks as if he hasn’t been sitting on her bed, perched by the window. He winces even as he’s talking, like it’s difficult to look her in the eye – he doesn’t look away. 

“We don’t have to pretend to care about that,” Mike says blankly, “Max doesn’t care about that.” 

“What are…” she grinds her teeth together, twitching fingers coming to her throat. A wince spreads across her face. She gets to see them wince with her, like a dominos. “You guys, doing, here?” she hisses, her voice comes out in increments. She pretends willfully that it isn’t happening. Her glower must speak for itself. 

The party quiets. 

“You’re,” she mouths, “ _Dead_.” 

“Well,” Dustin says, awkwardly, “We… have class today.” His eyes dart about her room, landing on a striped sweater. “And we’re here to pick you up.” 

“Do you need to go to a hospital?” Will asks quietly, cutting over Mike’s explosive, _“Fuck that!”_

“No!” she rasps out. 

“Hopper won’t let this happen,” 

Her pulse trips over itself. The last thing she needs. It’s California again, and she won’t leave. She won’t leave Hawkins. “N-No,” she chokes, “ _C_ _ops_ _-_!” It’s the last straw. In her bulging throat, something tears. It’s iron in her mouth. A new warmth begins to soak her gums, staining her teeth. She has to keep her mouth closed, now. She draws herself, slowly, to lean against her wall. She breathes and tastes the blood in her mouth. 

It’s kinda gross. She tells them that with her eyes. They need to leave. 

Lucas claps a hand over his mouth, looking faintly green. 

Is this what it's like, having a party?

She slams the door shut.

Difficult, she thinks, sliding down the door. Her head falls onto her arms. It's _difficult._

* * *

“Get in the car, Max.” 

Her mother has a palm on her shoulder. She says Neil’s command so gently, a hulking shadow in the door. Max has to go to school. Be a good daughter. She stares at the open passenger door. Beyond it, she can see his hand draped on the brake. The streetlights reflect themselves in the windows, she doesn’t see anything but a silhouette. 

Her knuckles whiten over her skateboard. 

“I’ll skate to school.” she says to her mother’s knees. 

Neil’s shoes make a scraping noise on the wooden porch. 

“In those clothes? Don’t be stubborn,” her mother says, with a hint of nervous energy. There’s a new force to her hand, nudging Max forward by a bruise. Max twitches from under her hand. “You don’t wanna be late for the ball. Don’t you want to spend time with your brother?” 

A mirthless smile stretches her mouth. Being driven to school and from wasn’t what Max would call ‘to spend time’. She’s dressed up today. She wears things that will cover. Her body is locked, so much that even when the honk blares from the car, ricocheting through the neighbourhood, she doesn’t flinch. “I’m meeting up with some friends down the road,” she says woodenly. “Billy doesn’t have to send me places anymore.” 

A laugh comes quiet from the house. 

“You hit your sister, boy?” 

Thin fingers grip her shoulder firmly. The pain takes her by surprise, and she jerks away, leaving the shadows of the porch. Her mother is pleading. She stands in the doorway, a waif gripping her hands to herself, startled. 

Billy bends so that his face can be seen from the porch. She doesn’t read his expression, staring down the empty street. 

“No.” he says. 

“How many times I gotta say,” Neil sighs, the wood creaking under his boots. Max is throwing a tantrum, he says with the curl of his upper lip. He slips past her mother silently enough for a man so broad. “You can’t be too rough with girls.” 

He doesn’t look at her, serene as all hell. Max is making it difficult for everyone. How typical of her, and how much it reveals of her mother, whose waist becomes thinner by the day. She’s wasting time in such a gloriously unproductive way. Can’t she just suck it up and get in the car? She’s done it before. 

“She’s wasting time, Susan,” Neil says. 

Thick fingers tap a listless rhythm against the wheel. Max gets in the car. 

The radio is silent, and once the car begins moving, she makes an effort to reach over. She wills herself to turn it on. 

She’s shaking, she realizes with distant surprise, curled against the door. The engine roars its affirmation, rattling down pebbles and potholes. The car is rumbling, but her fingers twitch against the grainy surface of her skateboard. It becomes revulsion. She glances, furtively, to her side, digging her nails into her palms. Why isn’t he saying something? His fingers move across the wheel slowly. He does that when he has something to say. 

She stares at the clasp of the front compartment, sweat at the small of her back. Her bag is pressed against the seat. 

He’s waiting for her to apologize. 

One sorry will bring them back to where they were. 

Max can come back from what she did if she says sorry. She knows it well enough. _It’s my fault,_ she can say, has said. Billy will forgive her. He wants to forgive her, but Max makes it so hard. She should’ve said sorry in the bathroom. Billy would have forgiven her then. The car pulls into the parking lot. It comes to a slow stop, and she doesn’t open the door. She licks her bottom lip. 

Billy reaches over to turn the engine off. 

Apologize, Max. 

Billy shoves his door open. He slams it shut. She flinches violently, knocking her shoulder against the seat. She doesn’t know where he’s going. She blinks rapidly, swallowing. Can’t apologize. She fumbles for the door. Apologize next time. Her skateboard clatters on the ground and she gets aboard. 

* * *

“Random girl!” Steve Harrington says, like it’s a delight to see her. 

“Lucas says I can keep my skateboard in your car.” She replies, monotone. The light of the school ball doesn’t reach him, so he’s mainly just sitting there, in the dark. He’s Billy’s height, and he lounges against his car like Billy does. 

Dustin says Steve used to be an asshole. 

When she approaches him, he opens the door for her. “Course he did.” He sighs, then seems to take a moment. 

“You didn’t skateboard here, did you?” 

Her scalp aches, but she refrains from picking at her hair. She tosses her skateboard into the back seat, darting back into the light. Quick as you please. “No.” she replies, watching him hum around the slushy in his hand. “Thanks.” She says, then makes to go back inside. 

“Hey, um.” 

She closes her eyes, breathing deeply. Turning on her pumps, she turns to look at him. 

His face has healed up, smooth as a baby. It had been ugly for a long time. Billy’s bruises don’t heal quickly. Max has never had to hide a face like that. Neil would kill him. Steve doesn’t have a little brother, but she supposes interdimensional monsters will make anyone paranoid. He’s in a casual red sweater, bunched to his elbows. Must be why he’s still outside. 

The ball will take three hours. It’ll be boring, but here he is, waiting. 

Billy is already gone. 

“You need a pick-up,” Steve Harrington says, like an offer, as he shrugs, “Dustin’s already making me his chauffer. Might as well make it a combo pack.” 

She clenches her fist behind her back. 

“I’ll keep it in mind.” She says. 

* * *

She doesn’t take Steve up on his offer, but by the time summer rolls around, Billy doesn’t need to pick her up anymore. 

* * *

Starcourt is laughably small. 

Max has met five teachers in Starcourt, bringing the party total up to a whopping twenty-four. Mr. Wheeler is of the opinion that it is a blight on the Hawkins skyline. He’s shared it with Max, Lucas, and Will, when they visit Mike’s place. “Have some real summer fun,” he says, twirling his fork between his fingers as Mike scarfs down his lunch. 

He scrapes the beans into the bin while Mrs. Wheeler is preoccupied with her toddler. Mutters, “C’mon let’s go.” And, louder, “Yeah, yeah, dad.” 

Saliva pools at the back of her mouth, and Max, cold cement under her knees from a night in the basement, wonders what it would taste like. 

“Let’s go to the pool!” 

Her smile freezes. 

She turns around to face them. “Billy’s at the pool.” 

Lucas’ smile becomes strained too, when she brings Billy up, when the party does, he becomes loud like she doesn't see the line of his shoulders. She wonders if he can feel the bruises and swallows guilt, dizzying in her chest. 

“What,” he splutters, “Like all the time?” 

“It’s- he’s a lifeguard there.” 

“That fucker’s a lifeguard?” Mike scoffs, a spread smirk on his face. He’s gotten taller in the summer, which makes him almost unbearable to be around. “ _Why_?” 

She rolls her eyes at his smarmy behavior, scratching the inside of her elbow. He called Billy a fucker though, so points to him. Billy’s always liked the lifeguard post. He took them in California too. “That’s not a mystery,” she replies wryly, wetting her lips. It’s gone dry. Talking about Billy will do that; it’s summertime too. She needs chapstick. “It’s where the girls are.” 

Lucas nods, a thoughtful expression on his face. “And they’re, you know.” He whispers, “In bikinis.” 

“That’s creepy.” Will mutters, just as Mike, unblinking, says, “Disgusting.” 

She jabs an elbow into Lucas’ side when he continues nodding serenely. He’d been in the middle of talking, so he hacks on his next words, wheezing. “We can go when he’s not there,” he manages to say, “There’s gotta be shifts.” 

“What if we go at night?” Will says quietly. “El can join us.” 

“I’m not _not_ going to the pool during summer.” 

Mike inhales sharply, coming to a sudden stop. “I bet El’s never been to the pool during the summer.” he says triumphantly, pointing a greasy finger in Max’ face. He casts an eye around, “That’s it. We’re going to the pool.” 

What’s the deal, she wants to ask, kicking at her skateboard sullenly. 

It’s just water. 

Water is gross. This is what happens when you go inland – the locals go rabid when they see that shit. There’s nothing good at the beach. It’s sand and garbage, and if she’s lucky, the shells she finds will be bigger than her fingernails. Worse still, pools are pretend-beaches. The lowest of the low. Max has had enough swimming lessons to last her a lifetime. 

If it was just the boys, she’d bully them right out of the idea. 

She doesn’t because El’s never been to the pool during the summer. She bites the inside of her cheek. “I have to ask my parents.” she replies, turning her head to watch the road as they cross. “Tell me when.” 

* * *

Dinner is spaghetti and meatballs. 

Her mother pulls large helpings onto Neil’s plate, grating chilled mozzarella. She smiles when he cups her cheek, and moves on to Billy. He leans away from her stiffly, watching the flat edge of his knife. Her mother scrapes at the bottom of the pot, pushing them into Max’ plate. “I’m not hungry,” she tells Max. She pats her stomach deprecatingly, settling into her seat, “I’m trying to watch my figure.” 

Neil smiles in approval. 

Max shovels half of it in her mouth within two blinks, her hands shaking. She keeps her eyes lowered on the table setting. Sauce misses her plate, spotting the table. She doesn’t wash her dinner down with water, tasting its remnants in her mouth once her dinner is gone. 

“I’m turning in.” she says. “Quiz tomorrow.” 

Nothing in Neil’s face so much as twitches. No one at the table spoke, and so no response is required. Her mother takes her plate. She wishes Max luck – not that Max needs it. Billy’s eyes flick towards her. 

She closes her bedroom door. 

The trees along Old Cherry Road aren’t regulated. They haven’t been managed in years. In Hawkins, they’re the tallest, with the thickest branches. She pushes her window pane up. They make the perfect foliage when she slips through, her backpack stuffed with clothes. 

It takes longer, sneaking through. 

The party is already waiting when she gets there. Lucas’ face lights up, and bundled behind them, is El. She’s in the same leather jacket, it sags over her shoulders. It makes a great cover under the darkness. She smiles tentatively at Max. 

“Alright!” Lucas cheers. 

The party doesn’t need the excuse of a monster to run around breaking laws in Hawkins. Will Byers eagerly pulls his mother’s gardening shears from his backpack. “I thought we’d need it,” he says shyly, his swimsuit peaking from the loose collar of his t-shirt. 

He is rebuffed, because El unlocks the gate for them. 

It’s already less property damage than Max is used to. 

“Does the Sheriff know you’re here?” Max asks, as the boys whoop and scream around them. They barge past her in a ruckus that’ll send any little creatures wandering about scuttling off, and they’re in the water before El even turns the lights on. 

El shakes her head, stepping around a shallow puddle. 

“How’s...” Max rattles her brain. Whatever you do, she thinks, don’t ask, _how are you?_ “He’s gonna freak out, isn’t he?” 

God- it sounds like she’s accusing El of something. 

El glances at her. She puts her finger to her mouth, and in the gloom, there’s a curve of her lips. 

Max grins. “I won’t tell if you don’t.” she promises, throwing her backpack on the ground. 

The light underwater casts a broad reflection, it makes El’s face glow, washing over the wary pull of her brows. She approaches the pool’s edge to peer into it. 

“It’s not that different in the summer,” Max says. “The water’s warmer. Hot, actually, when the sun’s really out. That gets kinda gross... but it’s better at night.” she pauses, stony-faced at the water speckling her muddy shoes. She feels the very real urge to continue talking. “Refreshing. You couldn’t really have chosen... a better time to do this.” 

El doesn’t take her jacket off, but she slowly moves to sit. Her clothes rustle, the edges dipping into the water. 

“I’ve been in the water before.” El says, slowly, like she’s counting her words by her fingers. 

Max presses her mouth shut. “Right,” she laughs. 

Serves her right for assuming; of course El’s been in the water before. Water is everywhere. She feels like an idiot. She looks at the boys, dropping herself into the pool to pretend her neck isn’t prickling with embarrassment. Her clothes drag her down, and she leans her back against the wall beside El. Lucas should come over now, and take her away from this awkward conversation. 

“It wasn’t like this,” El adds quietly. 

Max turns back quickly, her crossed arms out of the water. Her elbow brushes against El’s knees, when El leans over the edge, and sinks her legs in. The shadows under her eyes become darker, and the pool’s shine makes her seem ghoulish under the light. 

“Oh,” Max says. 

El had been kept. The waters she had been made to tread would surely not be a pool. She opens her mouth to ask, curiosity fluttering in her throat, but stops herself. Surprised delight runs across El’s face, untethered. “Cold.” she says, looking at Max. Her smile is broad. 

Max’ mouth tugs upwards. 

“What are you wearing?” Mike jeers, loud from where he’s suddenly appeared beside them. “This is the pool!” 

She rolls her eyes, sharing a commiserating glance with El. “I just thought it’d be cold,” she replies, pushing herself off the wall to look at him. She crosses her arms. It’s her mom’s shirt. She wore it when she’d been pregnant with Max. The sleeves cover just about everything. “And I was right, so you can buzz off.” 

“Come in the water, El!” Lucas calls. His arms wave around, grabby hands, and he’s a deliberate menace when he splashes water everywhere. 

She shoves his face in the water. 

* * *

The Sheriff does find out, because someone called the cops. 

* * *

From Old Cherry Road to the Hawkins middle school is a short stretch of the plains. There are no trees or streetlights along the way. The county isn’t bothered with the outskirts to waste their funds on it. She knows the stretch so well that when she closes her eyes in bed, she sees every branch, and every leaning silhouette. 

When the blaring headlights of a car comes to light the way, she moves to the side. 

The car will roar by, and she will continue slowly, her legs aching. It will take her eyes a while to see again, in the sudden dark, but if she blinks hard, she’ll get her sight back. 

The car doesn’t roar by. 

It moves with her. 

Her shadow looms behind her. Frowning, she moves to the other side of the lane. 

The car follows. 

She brings a hand over her eyes. Squinting, she peers at the number plate. She can make out real little with two lights in her eyes, and she waves an arm. As if in response, the car speeds up. She feels her pulse through her wrist. 

Her skateboard clatters against the gravel, spinning out of sight. Max is tasting dirt when the car speeds past her, her knees aching. 

She knows the number, and she bites down on a bitter laugh. 

Billy is still waiting for her sorry. 

* * *

The lifeguard goes missing, and it’s not that Max doesn’t believe El. El is the Mage, she’s seen things Max can only dream of seeing. Fought monsters Max can only... dream of fighting. But of all things, this is the one thing that Max knows. 

Billy would never kill someone. 

It’s a whisper she confesses in the Sheriff’s lodge, her head in the colourful pages of a shared Wonder Woman comic book. She doesn’t look at El when she says it, but she glances upwards when the silence stews. 

The blood that they’d found splattering the Hargroves’ bathroom made her head spin. Still makes her head spin. She had become colder thinking about it, curving her hands into themselves. It’s the ice, and how Billy does things the same way each other. She knows how he works. When she breathed, trying not to touch the walls, she had tasted the iron again, and her body had shaken with suppressed coughing. 

Her lungs screaming. 

El's throat works, and her mouth parts. She looks confused, her eyes big and conflicted. Max knows what she wants to say before she says it, and prays that El won’t find the words she wants. 

“He... hurts... people.” El says, not with the finest words. Her mouth had nearly formed an ‘o’, and if she’d said _you,_ Max doesn’t know what she would’ve done to the room. 

Max lets out an exasperated sigh, tossing her comic book aside. 

“It’s different!” she says, “Just cause you hurt someone, doesn’t mean you’d kill em! It’s a line!” 

El breathes. 

She leans across the bed, her hand outstretched. Max flinches. 

El takes the comic book with both her hands, putting it to her lap. She has these eyes that just aren’t fair. There’s a downward pull of her face. “I-” Max says, hoarsely, halfway to dry laughter, “I know it’s not really obvious to you.” she tries to explain, shifting to move her legs from beneath her. They’re growing cold, and stiff. 

“Billy’s an asshole, but he doesn’t just kill people. He doesn’t have it in him.” her hand creeps to her neck, on the warm, pounding, pulse. “He wouldn’t have killed me.” 

El swallows. 

She lets the books slip onto the floor. 

“Okay.” she says quietly. 

* * *

Max is right. 

She’s _right._

Billy doesn’t kill people, and he wouldn’t have- it's the Host who will. 

The house is dark when she returns. Just another kid on the streets no one sees. There is no dinner waiting for her. She goes into her room, to find her things on the floor. Her cupboard in a disarray. When was the last time she’d been in her room? She climbs into her bed and presses her hands into her face. The pages of her books are torn out. 

Billy said sorry. 

**Author's Note:**

> this is max saying billy takes his anger out on her, which surprise!! is what im here to ADDRESS


End file.
